A portrait in thy hand? Nay show it me.
Why dost thou blush? Who is the happy one
Thou carriest thus to gaze on?
Al.Look and see.
Sa. ’Tis Tarudante. O thou faithless Almeh,
To speak of friendship who hast never told me
Thou hast a lover. Now I see the cause
Why thou art here. This boy.—’Tis a smooth cheek,
A pretty picture. Ah! wert thou not shamed
To slight me for a sprinkling of grey hair